JEKYLL AND HYDE: A GOTHIC THRILLER
by Alexia Dark
Summary: How do you tell evil from good? Is Hyde merely an extension of Jekyll's personality... or will he become something far more sinister? In this first-person musical and bookverse story, Henry Jekyll recounts the last, terrifying month of his life.


DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. Being based on both the original story and the musical, yes, there are references to lyrics, but they are essential to the action of the story. I hope I won't be singled our for this, but, there's always facebook. Enjoy.

JEKYLL AND HYDE: A GOTHIC THRILLER

It is over.

I stare vacantly at my reflection in the mirror, not even knowing whose eyes look back at me. My struggle has torn from me all motivation, and I am left with only a deep, resigned hollowness which echoes through my soul. This is the end.

Time is running out, but there is something yet to be done. I turn and go to where I keep my writing materials. Out of the corner of my eye, the fire of the Bunsen burner flickers and dances in the mirror, its light reflected two-fold, illuminating the dark, once-proud laboratory as I pick up the quill and begin to write.

"Dear John,

If you are reading this, I have failed. By now, you will have no doubt realized what I have done, and for that, I cannot ask your forgiveness, only your sympathy. It has been said that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and mine were of the best. Blame me if you must, but if I have learned anything these past few weeks, it is that there are two sides to every story..."

*****

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

I am lying, and like the good friend he is, John Utterson refrains from comment, merely looking at me with concern. Usually such a small lie would warrant only a knowing glance, but today there is a genuine sense of apprehension as well.

"What is it, John?," I ask, disturbed by his expression.

"I cannot say I'm not worried for you, Henry," he confesses. "What if they reject your proposal? Sir Danvers may be chairman of the board, but he cannot help you, even for Emma's sake-,"

"John, do you believe in me?," I interrupt, impatient with this topic of conversation. "More importantly, do you believe in my theories?"

"Yes, but-,"

"Then there is nothing else," I say simply, and smile at my well-meaning friend. "I appreciate your concern, but this battle is mine alone. And besides, Sir Danvers would not help me if he could. No; this is something I have to do, and I am the only one who can do it."

There are many times when I wish it was not so, but I am aware that my philosophies are unusual to others, especially to conservative gentlemen like Sir Danvers. But this does not matter; Emma understands, and that is enough. I turn to go, and John touches my shoulder, still uneasy.

"Are you ready?," he asks again, through no fault of memory, insistent.

I return the gesture, meeting his anxious expression with honesty.

"No," I admit, acknowledging my bluff. "But this is my only chance."

It is true. Every moment of my life has led to this day, when men and Fate decide the course of my work.

All my life I have been possessed by one great, all-consuming quest; the separation of the components that make up the human mind and spirit, specifically the dual natures that cause men to love or hate, nurture or kill, to become either evil or good. The potential for each resides in all of us, and it is the curse of mankind that these polar twins, these conflicting personalities, should be constantly struggling.

It began at a young age. My family had, some generations back, been titled and great, one of the most respected names in all of England. But my father had been less inclined than his peers to wallow in his own importance, and when my grandfather died, the nobility had passed onto a cousin. He was content with this, happy to instead retire to a life of good works and comfort in the country, where I was born.

Unfortunately, his wish was not to be granted. While he avoided the petty politics of the city lords, his younger brother was more selfish in his aspirations. He had also, I later learned, long harboured a secret love for my mother. One evening, when I was ten, my father caught him attempting to rape her, and in the fight that ensued, my uncle killed her. He was taken away and convicted of her murder. I was in attendance for the execution, and as I looked into the face of the man who had stolen from me the person I loved most, I knew that I could kill him.

It was disturbing, and terribly confusing, to realize that the same dark intent he had had resided within me as well. I was still a child, but nonetheless, the instinct was there, and as I grew older, I wondered how someone so young could have felt such mature, consuming contempt. The hate faded slightly as the years went on, but my curiosity remained, and I began to contemplate my uncle. What could drive a man to kill? What is it that makes an otherwise civilized man pass the point of no return? Where is the fine line where sanity evaporates, and madness takes over? A moment comes when a man becomes something else.

I confessed none of this to my father, whose trusting, gentle nature had been shattered by my mother's death. He loved me and cared for me; I could not have asked anything more from a father, but without her, he was somehow incomplete. There was one thing which we shared, however: an uncommon disdain for ambitious greed, an almost superior pride that caused us to hold our heads high, content in the knowledge that we were sufficient and wise. And like my father, I chose not to turn my aspirations toward the deceiving, self-serving games of civilized society. Instead, I decided to study medicine and science, to use my wealth for some good.

However, I cannot say that my motivations were wholly unselfish. I did not subscribe to the same assuming, conceited disposition of my peers, but my innocent and honourable countenance was nonetheless a facade in its own way. I hid from everyone the shameful, dark desires which I knew were inherent in all of mankind, but which I refused to acknowledge as my own.

I had moved to London to pursue my studies, and upon their completion, I learned that my father had died at last, his duty to me complete, released from this world to join my mother, whom he had missed so dearly. I inherited a great fortune, equalling and in some cases even surpassing that of those who society placed above me. I joined this hypocritical charade reluctantly, only for the sake of professional necessity and the continued honouring of my name allowing myself to engage in my peers' refined company. Some were aghast at my lack of ambition, but I was nonetheless accepted, content to let "Doctor" be my title.

In the years that followed, there was a time when my curiosity at my own unrespectable urges allowed me to weaken my resolve to set myself apart from the sins of men. I was much dedicated to my work, apprehensive of attachment to any particular young lady whom may distract me from my calling, and so instead, I fulfilled my needs elsewhere, visiting brothels in secret, only allowing my desires to be known in the comforting, unconditional arms of women who could not judge me.

That all changed when I met Emma Carew. I had worked for several years at the hospital which Sir Danvers Carew, her father, governed; he had been a great mentor to me early in my career, and we had become good friends. I was given an invitation to his daughter's coming out party, and I begrudgingly accepted out of respect for Sir Danvers, expecting to have to fawn on yet another delicate, spoiled young thing in a sea of such bothersome creatures.

How wrong I was. I knew the instant I saw her that she was like no one else I had ever met. She was polite, but she did not feint at the helpless, pitiful innocence which young ladies were taught would draw the hearts, and therefore the protection of marriage, of men. When I explained my profession, she took an interest. I confessed to her that I often wondered at the idiotic deceptions of those in our company, and she laughed, sharing my opinion. I quickly came to adore her. We were truly two of a kind, and a sweet, romantic courtship was born.

Around this time, my studies of chemicals had come to an impasse. More and more over the past several years, my interest had begun to stray from the practice of medicine. I became familiar with every advance in pharmaceuticals, and soon I was an expert in this field. Late one night, I was musing at my past and the dark streak of madness in humanity when I began contemplating the use of chemicals to change a person's personality. It had been done before; a person could be sedated, restored, altered in numerous ways with the treatment of drugs. Perhaps, if I could combine the right ones, I could go even further; I could isolate the emotions and thoughts of man, separate his intelligence from his primitive need for chaos.

I knew of just the compounds I was seeking, and I began my experiment in secret, testing my imperfect formulas on doomed, injured creatures who were donated to the hospital for such purposes. Many a poor rat found its end in my laboratory, struck dead by fear, madness, or anguish as they tried to escape from their impenetrable prison. At last, I developed a formula that could, just by being added to the drinking water of my subject, cause the creature to run about in predatory freedom, eating its fill and watching with selfish wrath as its peers avoided it like a thing repulsive. But soon it would fall asleep, and wake once again to the simple, innocent life it had known before, as if nothing had happened.

I had found the secret, the key to the door that would unlock and set free the sorrows and suffering of mankind. All I needed to do now was put it into practice. The next day, I went to Sir Danvers and explained, without revealing my own motivations, what I had discovered, but instead of sharing my enthusiasm, he was shocked by the seeming absurdity of my claims. He told me that the idea was a foolish, impossible one, and that I should forget about it. I became angry, feeling betrayed, but I did not show it.

Instead, I went to Emma, the only person I could trust completely. She too was apprehensive at first, but when I explained the endless possibilities, the new, bright world I could see, she believed in my vision. Soon, I came to realize that I was in love with her, and on the night of the first anniversary of our meeting, I proposed. She accepted, to the reluctance of her father, but he could not deny her.

Renewed, I continued my fight to see my dream come into fruition. I submitted my request formally, in writing, to the board of governors, and was granted a chance to present my theory to them.

Now the day is here, and I am anxious, but I must keep my resolve. The secrets that dwell in the minds of men, and in my own heart, will soon be mine to discover. Could I save humanity, and myself, from the temptations of evil once and for all? I need to know.


End file.
